Blind
by CoryphaeusRex
Summary: Reiche PlanchettexLeon Fortunato. Rather AU slash pairing that won't make any sense unless you've read The Rising and possibly the Regime. And Leon's actually his proper age! Written to the song Blind, by Train.
1. Never Alone

_The colour of my hair is changing_

_My skin is soft, too soft for a man my age_

_And I am never alone_

_Where is time taking me?_

Reiche Planchette was wandering. Again. Since having fallen out of favour with 'the other boss', as he liked to refer to Nicolae, he had been given increasingly less and less to do. At the same time, Leon had been given more and more tasks, some of which, Reiche suspected, were not exactly professional duties. Well, with Leon, the line between professional and personal duties was very fine, and had a tendency to be broken repeatedly. These days it was more of a dotted line.

How had he become so bitter? Oh, sure, it hurt, falling from grace, being usurped by one's protégé, having to take the orders instead of giving them out, but it was really no excuse to take it out on the non-present Leon. At the same time, it was _every_ excuse. Ever since he had brought Leon into Nicolae's sight, it had all been downhill for Reiche from there. Nicolae had a new toy, and as an everlasting testament to his own stupidity, Reiche had been the one who had introduced them. Now it was Fortunato taking all the responsibilities, Fortunato being confided in, _Fortunato_ carrying all the top-secrets around in his pocket.

At which point had it become less painful to refer to Leon by his last name?

There had been a time, not really all that long ago, when Reiche had seemed unable to address Leon by his last name, nor even by his full first name. The familiarity between the two of them had been remarked upon many a time, but Reiche had been too besotted at the time to care. His attention had been too fixed on the young man walking at his side- Leon, the wind lifting his ebony hair away from his beautiful tanned face as they walked through the busy streets. It was one of Reiche's more perfect memories. Leon almost dropping his heavy books (his grounds for escaping from his perpetual supervision- independent study) as he laughed at one of Reiche's more witty comments, Reiche taking the books from him, if only as an excuse for light skin-on-skin contact, an innocuous and yet still emotionally charged touch of fingertips as the books changed hands.

Rome had been sunny in those days.

Now back in his native Romania, with Reiche older and wiser and not so delusional, it seemed to be raining forever. Even when there was sunshine, it was weak, watery and in general could not really be bothered with the 'shine' part of sunshine. Maybe it was just Reiche's mood that meant the bad weather impacted on him more than it affected anyone else. Nicolae never stopped smiling these days, a catlike smirk that screamed 'oh yeah I just got laid and I bet you didn't', and made Reiche want to go and hit things. And then there was Leon. While not exactly walking around beaming like the Cheshire cat, Leon had that characteristically calm and content look on his face. Once upon a time, that would have reinforced Reiche's belief that someone somewhere was looking out for him. Nowadays that someone somewhere had turned on him, and every time he saw that look on Leon's face, he had to go into a room alone and compose himself, to hide behind his mask of contempt once more.

It had been the perfect plan. He had managed to locate Leon after so many years, and had hoped to bring him into the company so it could be like the old days, the two of them, together. Indeed, when he had finally met up with Leon, the younger man's feelings did not seem to have waned in the slightest, a fact that the staff at the hotel where Reiche had been staying could testify to. Like a fine wine, the passion could even have been said to have matured and intensified with time.

But then Nicolae had started to show an interest.

Reiche didn't really blame Leon, couldn't blame him, when he thought about it. If given the choice between a man ten years older, tired, disillusioned and world-weary, and a man ten years younger, dynamic, active and exciting, even Reiche could have predicted the selection Leon would make. Maybe it was all for the best. Maybe it would be better for them both if Reiche could just stop thinking it was still twenty years ago, and lay the dream of Leon's love to rest.

Without realising it, Reiche had managed to find his way through the building, gone past his own office at least eight times, and was currently wandering along the corridor outside Nicolae's office. Without warning, the door opened, and Leon all but fell out of the door, straight into Reiche's path. He looked up, with wide brown eyes, and Reiche's pulse seemed to still. He felt a sensation not at all dissimilar to having cold water poured down his back as Leon straightened up, clutching his files to his chest. Files that, by the look of it, had not been opened for weeks.

Reiche hadn't been face to face with Leon like this for a while. Older, wiser, with touches of grey marring his jet-black hair, Leon's face, and indeed his eyes, were still as youthful as they had been twenty years ago, still containing that hint of mischief and rule-breaking intent that had so fascinated Reiche. Leon's expression was as calm as it ever was, and only the bright points of colour, high on his cheekbones, betrayed anything that he may have been feeling. Reiche opened his mouth to speak, but no sound seemed to be able to come out. His throat was very dry all of a sudden. Leon's face lit with alarm, and after staring like a rabbit in headlights for a few moments, he finally seemed to find his own voice.

"I'm sorry, sir," Leon mumbled, then turned tail and scooted off down the corridor, leaving Reiche watching sadly after him.

Older, wiser, but nevertheless, it was just like the first time.


	2. Too Long

_Nothing is real_

_This is how I feel_

_Nothing is wrong_

_But everything takes too long_

Reiche could never remember the exact reason he had happened to be in Rome at the time. He hadn't been dressed for business, he wasn't a sightseeing kind of person, and the last thing he wanted to do was make a pilgrimage to the Vatican. It didn't really matter, he supposed- the point was that he had been there.

He was strolling around the busy streets, his slow speed a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle all around him, stamping him with the mark of a tourist without him realising. He took what looked to be an interesting shortcut down a side-street, when a door opened, and a young man fell out, only just avoiding a collision. Reiche blinked in shock, halting his languid walk. The boy- he could not have been any older than eighteen- scrambled to his feet, and with wide brown eyes looked up at Reiche in embarrassment and a certain degree of fear.

Reiche was smitten. The young man was stunning, with typical Italian good looks and an air of rushed breathlessness about him that Reiche found incredibly attractive. His raven hair fell in the gentlest of waves, short enough to be practical, but not short enough to make him look totally masculine. He had lightly tanned skin, currently covered with a thin sheen of sweat, from the combined factors of the stifling heat, and whatever activities he had been pursuing within the dwelling he had just exited. His shirt was half open, and in his hand was clutched a number of pieces of what looked like paper, but as the boy hurriedly stuffed them into his pocket, Reiche saw that they were banknotes.

He should have known then- he should have realised, known better, and gone back to Viviana in Cluj. The problem was, he didn't, because the little voice that did realise, in the back of his mind, was drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears.

The boy's frightened eyes did not leave his face for what seemed like hours to Reiche. He wanted to say something, desperately, to ask the young man his name, to ask him to come back to the hotel, to ask for his hand in marriage- Reiche didn't know exactly what. However, despite various attempts to kick his brain into gear, he could not scrape together enough Italian in his head to even say hello. He just stood, his mouth slightly open, ready to say something, looking a little like a fish out of water, until the boy gathered his wits together and wiped the look of shock from his face.

"I am sorry, sir," he said in English, having obviously registered Reiche as a tourist. Then, without a further sound, he turned and scooted off down the street, turning left at the end. Having been released from that mesmerising gaze, Reiche's legs unlocked themselves, and he set off in pursuit of the boy.

As it turned out, he didn't have far to run.

He skidded to a halt as he came out of the side street, turning left, wildly scanning the scene for any sign of the boy. He was not disappointed. The young man's run had turned into a nonchalant walk as he passed by a pair of iron gates, the innocent look on his face immediately telling Reiche that he belonged inside the aforementioned gates, and had escaped for whatever reason, while everyone else was having their siesta.

The Romanian continued to follow him, affecting the same casual manner as the boy slipped into the shade of the trees, and down the side of the building contained within the railings. On the shady side, the fence was slightly lower, and with a quick look around, the Italian swung himself up and over, landing in the lush green grass with barely a sound. A few feet to his right, there was a tree with slightly lower-hanging branches than all the rest, which he clambered up with dazzling speed. Through the multitude of leaves, Reiche saw an open window, and in a few seconds, the boy was inside it.

Reiche sighed, and leaned against the top of the railings, resting his head on his folded arms. It looked like his stay in Italy was going to have to be extended, indefinitely.

From then on, Reiche hung around in the same district every day, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Italian boy. Every morning, he would sit outside a small café across the street from where he had seen the boy first, and every afternoon, while the rest of Rome was sleeping the heat away, he would loiter around outside the building with the iron gates, along the shady side, searching for the same open window. And every day, he would be unlucky, and go back to his hotel, sunburnt and unfulfilled.

Three weeks later, with a hotel bill that even his wages were straining to cover, Reiche had begun to lose hope. It was siesta time, and he was once again sat in the shade of the lush green foliage at the side of the large building. He heard a small rustle behind him, and turned to see the boy standing in the grass, looking interestedly at him.

"You watch for me. Why?" he asked in English. Reiche immediately stood up.

"What is your name?" he answered the boy's question with another.

"Leonardo Fortunato. But you have not answered me."

"You are beautiful. I want to talk with you."

"Ha. Liar. Talk is not what you want," Leonardo snapped his fingers in a throwaway gesture, and began to walk away across the grass.

"I am not lying. We will talk," Reiche called, and Leonardo turned back to regard him. The boy lowered his eyes, his sooty eyelashes coming to rest in a most attractive way as a rosy blush painted his cheeks.

"Maybe we will," he smiled shyly.

"Come with me," Reiche suggested gently, extending a hand over the railings. And Leon took it.


	3. Your Smile

_How did this end up me against you?_

_With everything that I say and everything you do_

_Your smile is changing, yeah_

_Where is time taking you?_

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Desperate measures of brandy, to be precise. Reiche had trudged back to his office in a melancholy silence, only to find the _palincå _in the bottom drawer of his desk calling his name. Who was he to ignore such a seductive voice?

He wasn't drunk yet, much as he had hoped to be. Not drunk enough to go into downtown Bucharest and find himself a back-alley boy who bore a resemblance to Leon. Not yet. Not drunk enough to forget all about everything and pass out. Which was a shame. Reiche would dearly have loved to forget it all, to drink himself stupid and maybe, if he was lucky, never wake up.

It was all Nicolae's fault, he concluded from nowhere. It had been Nicolae's interference that had pitted the two of them against each other, but Reiche couldn't figure for the life of him why he felt the need to play those petty power games with the one true love of his life. He didn't even _like_ Nicolae, so why was he running around, trying to curry favour with the man? He knew why Leon was doing it. Love at first sight would be accurate, Reiche thought bitterly. He should never have tried to bring Leon back into his life. With one look at Carpathia, Leon had fallen head over heels, and Reiche had not even been allowed a second glance from then on.

Nicolae had stolen his life, had stolen his power and control, and now, to top it off, had stolen Reiche's only love away from him. Resentment would not come close to describing what Reiche felt towards his precocious protégé at that point in time. If only he hadn't made that promise…

It had been one of those times, way back in the pre-Leon days, when Reiche had been alone and Leon had not been there. If he had been, Reiche would not have made the stupid choice, would not have been in deep commune with the spirits that occasionally chose to whisper in his ear. He would not have accepted the task of engineering the birth of a certain child, had he known that this 'child' was going to grow up the way that he did. Ever since Nicolae had been about twelve, he had looked down upon Reiche with a degree of contempt unbecoming to such an otherwise perfect child. And Reiche had hated him for it.

Thirteen years of hatred, all for the sake of a promise to one spirit, who had not returned since, not even to say thank you. Then again, maybe Reiche just hadn't been listening ever since. He'd been too busy. Too busy falling in love. Too busy hanging around in Italy, where the sun shone and the lush green trees whispered secrets to each other, secrets about two lovers, strolling through the sun-baked streets, talking and talking and talking. Too busy waiting for a thousand midnights, and the arrival of Leon in his hotel room at each one, regular as clockwork, no matter what the risk. Too busy enjoying a thousand hot nights of passionate lovemaking, a thousand magical dawns.

He looked out of the window, his face telling the outside world of abject misery and pain. In Romania, it was cold, and raining, and since it was the wintertime, it was already pitch dark outside. Just as he had decided it was time to leave, to hop on the train downtown and find one of the rent boys whose hollow eyes displayed a maturity that belied their young appearance, his office door opened.

"Does nobody know how to knock?" he sighed in exasperated Romanian, as he swung around in his chair, only to find Leon looking at him blankly.

"I don't know what you just said," the Italian pointed out, in his native language.

"And?" Reiche replied in English. He was not going to converse in Italian with this… this traitor, no matter what. This was _his_ office, and _he_ would dictate the rules of play on this stretch of ground.

"It didn't sound very nice."

"So?"

Leon's expression became faintly martyred, as he studied Reiche with his dark brown eyes. He had never seen this side of Reiche - this arrogant, contemptuous, nasty side. A lot of things must have changed over the twenty years since they had first fallen in love. Reiche being one of those things.

"What's the matter, Reiche?" he asked, quite plainly and sadly.

"Just… go, Fortunato. Get out of my office. Go back to _him_," Reiche took another swig from the bottle of _palincå_. He had not been able to find a glass in his first search of the office, and what the heck, the bottle was quicker anyway.

"So this is what it's all about," Leon sighed, looking down at the floor. "I might have known."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"There is nothing between Carpathia and I," the Italian said proudly, raising his chin to look Reiche in the eye. The Romanian was intensely glad that he had not referred to Nicolae by his first name.

"Oh really? Then you might care to explain why you stumbled out of his office clutching some dusty reports earlier."

"He summoned me."

"What for?"

"Oh, Reiche, use your imagination. He propositioned me, and I said no. He threw me out of his office," Leon admitted, a slightly embarrassed look crossing his face, but nonetheless, he maintained eye contact with Reiche.

"I'll bet," Reiche snorted, the plum brandy causing him to forget his manners.

"I did! Honestly, Reiche, I haven't been with anyone since I met you! I just couldn't!" Leon seemed close to tears.

"I find that very hard to believe."

"Sometimes I really wanted to, when you left, but I swear I never did! Don't you believe me, Reiche?"

"I'm very sorry, Fortunato. I don't," Reiche turned away.

"And stop calling me that, Reiche! You wouldn't have called me that in Rome! Don't you remember?"


	4. I Don't Mind

_Nothing is real_

_This is how I feel_

_Nothing is good_

_But I don't mind being blind _

_If you don't mind doing time_

_Nothing is wrong_

_But everything takes too long_

"The best, Leon! You are the best lover in Rome!"

Leonardo Fortunato, barely twenty and looking very fetching wearing nought but bed sheets, giggled a little as he tried to silence his drunk and overenthusiastic lover who was currently shouting at the top of his voice in Italian. He had snuck away from his room at around midnight, and it was now nearing three in the morning. Nevertheless, Reiche was still as drunk as he had been when Leon had arrived at the hotel, soaked through with summer rain and looking more than a little miserable. Reiche had immediately taken steps to remedy the situation, discarding Leon's wet clothing, and doing a great number of things that put that adorable shy smile back on the young man's face.

"Reiche, somebody will hear you!" he whispered, still giggling. Reiche looked up at him from behind half-lidded eyes, with a blurry sort of smile on his face, as he brushed a few strands of Leon's raven hair away from his perspiring forehead. It took him a while to formulate a reply, distracted as he was by the slim young thing sitting atop him, pinning him to the mattress.

"You've been cooped up for too long, Leon. The world doesn't care what you and I get up to in here."

Leon couldn't exactly think of a reply, but as he sat back on his heels, the sheets slipped from about his shoulders, and his face creased into a frown.

"How do you know I'm the best in Rome?" he asked suspiciously. Reiche couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing at Leon's delayed reaction, pulling the younger man's face down to his for a brief kiss. Faced with this, Leon gladly yielded, and as he curled up, intertwined with Reiche, the Romanian ceased laughing, and instead sighed contentedly.

"You're the best in Rome, Leon, because you're absolutely perfect. If I ever find someone more perfect than you are right now, it'll be you in a few years' time, I know it," he said sincerely. Leon blushed fuchsia, and Reiche could feel the heat from his face against his own shoulder, until Leon's face moved, until his mouth was at a point just below Reiche's jawline.

"You really shouldn't flatter me so much, Reiche. I'll end up falling for you," the Italian murmured, his lips brushing against Reiche's neck.

"All the better," Reiche grinned, turning his head to meet Leon's lips with his own. As they kissed deeply, Leon's slender, tanned arms slid around Reiche's neck, pulling the Romanian closer, despite the heat. Reiche smiled, breaking the kiss, and moved lower down to Leon's neck. The Italian sighed in contentment, running his fingers through Reiche's mid-brown hair, his eyes sliding closed.

"I should really be getting back," Leon murmured, although his tone suggested that 'should' was the operative word, and he wasn't going anywhere.

"Leon… you have three hours… until you have to be… back…" Reiche mumbled, in between fervent kisses on Leon's upper torso. "Don't leave… just yet…"

"What's my incentive?" Leon grinned wickedly.

"Your incentive…" Reiche smirked, flipping Leon over onto his front, and continuing to nip gently at the side of his neck, while his hands went wandering elsewhere, "is me… doing this… to you…"

"Reiche…" Leon whimpered helplessly, his toes clenching against empty air. "Mm… we shouldn't…"

"Do you really want me to stop?" the Romanian asked rhetorically, fighting to control his own voice as he spoke, his lips moving against Leon's shoulder. The younger man squirmed, his breathing becoming shallower and faster, his movements becoming more desperate as his sweaty fists grasped at the sheets, tearing them in a few places.

"No…" his voice was barely a whisper that it seemed only the pillows were meant to hear. "Please, Reiche… I have to… go…"

"Stay with me, Leon. Stay with me in the morning. We could make love all day… and then all night…" Reiche panted, his face still pressed against Leon's shoulderblade. On his lips, he could taste the sweat from his lover's back, and as he bit down on Leon's neck, the younger man's voice became a whine.

"I can't… they'll notice… I'm gone…"

"One of these days… you'll leave there… and you'll stay with me then… won't you?"

"Yes… oh god yes, Reiche! I'll stay with you… forever… mm… harder…" Leon's slim back arched, and his voice became slightly more shrill again. Reiche recognised the signs- it was only a matter of time now.

"I love you," the Romanian whispered between gasps.

"Reiche!" Leon's voice rang out, somewhere between a whimper and a scream. His beautiful face twisted, and tears shuddered down his face as he finally came. Reiche, having come mere milliseconds before, relaxed, and, extricating himself from atop Leon, rolled the Italian boy onto his back again, and began to cover his face and neck with kisses. He was more than a little surprised to find Leon's hand against his chest, pushing him away.

"Did you really mean it, Reiche?" Leon's brown eyes were serious, challenging, his dark eyelashes studded with tears that sparkled like diamonds in the Italian moonlight.

"Of course I did," Reiche replied, shocked that Leon would think otherwise.

"You weren't just saying it because you were about to come?"

"Leon, my love, you know me better than that."

Leon relaxed, allowing Reiche's weight to rest on him once more. The Romanian grinned delightedly, and wasted no time immersing himself in his work again.

"Reiche?"

"Yes?" Reiche lifted himself up onto his elbows, forming a bridge across Leon's body.

"I think I'll stay this morning," the younger man sighed shyly, his eyelashes coming to rest on his cheeks in the way that made Reiche melt inside.

"Are you sure? I don't want to get you in trouble."

"I'll be fine. Even if I do get in trouble, I've got you to run to, right?" Leon asked mischievously, tracing a heart shape on Reiche's chest. The Romanian smiled down at him.

"Every time."


	5. I Fell To Your Wayside

_Hey by the way_

_When I fell to your wayside_

_Did I crash or just slide?_

_Hey by the way_

_When I pulled myself up to your wayside_

_Did I hurt you_

_Or just slide in?_

"Yes. Yes, I do remember," Reiche murmured after a very long while, his voice almost lost in the echoing confines of the brandy bottle. This was one of those traumatic reunions he'd rather skip through and wake up a few hours later with a migraine, not remembering a thing.

"So why… I mean… what's changed, Reiche?" Leon's voice cracked slightly, but Reiche didn't dare look up at him. Instead, he continued to meticulously study the bottle, holding it to the light to check how much was left. Not enough to make him totally unconscious. Totally uncaring, maybe. If he wasn't at the point already.

"You," he muttered, so quietly that he wasn't sure Leon had heard him. Judging by the quiet little sniffle that greeted his harsh (and probably unwarranted) judgement, the younger man most certainly had. There was an uncomfortable silence for a very long while, only broken by the sound of the falling raindrops against the windowpane. Reiche could feel Leon staring at him, could feel those brown eyes boring deep into him. The disbelief, the hurt- it felt like a slap across the face, and he couldn't bear to hold that gaze, or return it with a mocking one. Despite all the other things that had happened between them, he didn't quite have the heart of stone to do that to Leon.

"How can you say that?" the heartbroken whisper that finally reached his ears hit his heart like a speeding bullet. "How can you sit there, drunk, pretending to be all cold, and tell me that _I've_ changed?"

"Because, Fortunato, _I _am right," Reiche sighed. There was a sharp hiss from the other side of the room, then the sound of quick footsteps around to the side of his desk. The bottle was knocked from his hand with one indignant blow, and the next hit the side of his head, rattling his drink-sodden brains round the inside of his skull.

"What did you-" he began, but was stopped by another resounding slap.

"Just- stop, Reiche, stop it now! I don't care whether you think it's all me, I don't care what notions Carpathia's put into your head- I just… I want _my_ Reiche back!" There was a pathetic thump, as Leon's legs gave way beneath him. He half-sat, half-lay on the floor, his head resting against the arm of the chair where Reiche's free hand remained. Involuntarily, Reiche looked down at him, and it was at that moment that Leon chose to meet his eyes. "_Please?_"

Reiche flinched, visibly.

The tears really began to flow down Leon's face, as he tore his eyes away from Reiche's face and leant his forehead against the back of the hand that even now hung loosely over the arm of the chair. Reiche had not recoiled from the Italian's involuntary fall. Experimentally, he moved his fingers. They almost immediately met Leon's wet cheek, and the tears flowed down to drip off the ends of his fingertips. He felt the Italian's eyes close, and a sad little noise escape from behind closed lips.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, inaudible except to himself. Leon's tears continued to drip one by one from the ends of his fingers, but there was a difference. Maybe it was Reiche's imagination, maybe it was the brandy taking effect, but the Italian's tears seemed to be slowing as the older man's fingers ran gently along Leon's cheek. The younger man had not yet opened his eyes- he seemed to be either savouring the moment, or gearing up to leave. Maybe both.

He was too drunk. The brandy had definitely taken effect, otherwise he would not still be here. Would not still be sitting in this chair, running his fingers through familiar dark hair (although he couldn't remember at which point he had moved from face to hair), sighing the most melancholy of sighs, with his heart absolutely breaking in two for the second time that day. Without thinking, he looked down.

Leon's chin was resting on the arm of the chair, as Reiche's hand ruffled his ebony hair, and the look in his eyes was something that Reiche had not seen in years. Adoration mingled with desperation chased pain and longing round in small circles behind Leon's chocolate gaze. To shatter this moment would be like kicking a puppy- both cruel and unnecessary. Reiche didn't want it to end any more than Leon did, but there were things that had to be said.

"I'm sorry," Reiche repeated, astonished at the crack in his voice. Leon's eyes welled up again, as he bit his lip, still watching Reiche with almost nothing but love in his eyes.

"Me too," he whispered, before gradually getting to his feet. Reiche stood up too, for some reason, swaying a little as his head reminded him of his alcohol consumption.

He never knew why he did it. Slowly, with hands that somehow seemed not to belong to him, he reached up and took Leon's startled face in his hands. Their lips met, gently, with no more weight than feathers. Reiche could taste Leon's tears in that gentle kiss, and firmly resolved never to let the past few years happen ever again. What seemed like hours later, his heart plummeted as Leon's hands met his and gently pulled them away from his face, enfolding them in his own hands. His large brown eyes studied Reiche for the longest while, then with the most miserable look Reiche had ever seen on his face, he turned and began to walk away.

Reiche could only watch in terrible, numbed despair as Leon neared the door. Unbidden by his higher intelligence, his emotions took over, and he couldn't stop his hand from involuntarily reaching out towards his only newly-regained beloved. A tear escaped his eye, and he dashed it away, which is why he didn't see Leon's steady pace still, and similarly, didn't see the younger man rushing back towards him with astonishing speed.

Leon hit him in midair.


	6. Some Would Say Wiser

_So this is how it feels to get a little older_

_And some would say wiser_

_We know what that means, maybe not_

_Well maybe that's what that means, maybe not__  
_

Reiche had emerged from the cab half an hour ago, discovering that there were still some back-roads in Italy which were too narrow for cars. His jacket was slung over his shoulder, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. He'd been freshly showered when he left the hotel, now the sweat was sticking his clothing to him, even as it boiled on his skin.

He rubbed the back of his neck ruefully, feeling the sunburn sting as his palm slipped across it. Had it ever been so hot in Rome? In the shade, with cool drinks and the leafy grandeur of the trees around him, he'd never noticed how high the temperatures could soar.

But enough griping. There were blue skies overhead and vineyards stretched for miles out on either side, hiding the massive villas in which the owners of these fertile lands whiled away their days. A breeze brushed past his cheek, a fleeting sensation of cool amidst the burning air.

He shielded his eyes with his hand. All the villas roundabouts looked identical to him, he'd been told it was the fourth one along the dusty track and he'd already passed three. It mustn't be too long til the next one.

He was kicking up small dust clouds behind him, and the hems of his jeans were a pale, gritty brown, where his sweat wasn't gathering in the creases. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing at the feel of his hot palm on his even hotter forehead, and shook the sweat from his hand in disgust.

This had better be worth the effort.

The fourth villa came gradually into view, the red tiled roof the first thing to catch his attention. Searching for a gap in the rolling agricultural landscape, Reiche turned a grateful corner and his mouth fell open.

Leon _had_ been doing well for himself, if this was what he had referred to as a 'humble abode' in his letter. Three storeys of white stucco gleamed at him, forcing him to narrow his eyes against the glare. The dusty road turned to gravel driveway, and he could see that further on the road was driveable. Trust Leon to give him roundabout directions that would heighten the spectacle when he did arrive.

He trudged up the gravel path, feeling like a peasant approaching the house of his master, and glared at the fountain erected in front of the house. There were three garage doors. Who needed three cars? He approached the doorway, and took a moment to tidy himself in the shade of the porch, checking his reflection in the glass of the door, before ringing the bell.

Leon answered far too quickly to have been doing anything other than sitting on the stairs, but he was nonetheless artfully dishevelled, shirt hanging open and hair tousled to perfection. Reiche could only stare at him, feeling disgusting and grimy next to this fresh, clean apparition. Leon had aged well, only a few lines on his face, softening it from that of a marble statue into something more human, and not a trace of grey in his hair.

"Hello, Reiche," he said, leaning on the doorframe with one arm, every movement carefully calculated to make Reiche sweat.

"You've done well for yourself," Reiche said, running a dry tongue over drier lips.

Leon smiled, and gestured modestly around the expansive hallway. "I have, rather. You know, a few words in the right ears, a few investments in the right pockets, and here I am with a lovely little cottage in the country."

"_Căca__t_," Reiche involuntarily swore. "If this is a cottage in the country then I don't want to know what you expect in a mansion."

"Come on inside, Reiche, and we'll get you out of those dusty clothes." Leon held the door open and stepped back. Reiche could see tiled floors and impractical white walls everywhere. It was even better than the apartment he'd been given in return for his services in the running of the company in Romania, which was, comparatively, a bedsit next to this space. Leon had a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and modern art on the walls.

"I left my case at my hotel," the words came out without Reiche at the controls. Leon laughed, musically.

"I wasn't suggesting you put anything else on instead."

"I did come here on business, you know," Reiche said, half-heartedly, as Leon pulled him into the house with one hand.

"Business later, pleasure first," Leon said, pulling Reiche close to him and peeling the sticky shirt away from the older man's skin, allowing a gust of cool, fresh air to billow up his spine. "I missed you."

Still feeling like a grubby mortal standing next to a flawless angel, or maybe that wasn't the right metaphor, given his unique circumstances, Reiche kissed Leon, tasting expensive Cognac and his own sweat running down into his mouth and that indefinable flavour which told him that even though he was over a thousand kilometres from his own well-worn floor, he was now home.

He drew back from the kiss and took Leon's hand in both of his, pressing it to his lips for a long moment. "I've missed you too. More than you know."

With his free hand, Leon brushed a strand of Reiche's hair away from his sticky face, and their eyes met. Reiche could see that Leon's eyes were brimming with tears, whether from his long absence or the tragic banality of his trite words, he couldn't tell. But then Leon smiled, and the bright sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows seemed to dull and fade into the background.

"Enough talk," he said, and pressed a finger to Reiche's lips. "There aren't enough English words to make you understand how glad I am that you're back. I'm going to have to show you instead."

"That suits me just fine," Reiche smiled in response, and allowed Leon to discard the rest of his dusty clothes.


	7. Nothing Is Wrong

_Nothing is real, this is how I feel_

_Nothing is good, but I don't mind being blind_

_If you don't mind doing time_

_Nothing is wrong but everything takes too long_

"I love you, Reiche... oh_mio Dio_!" Leon's palms flattened against the wall, too close to the window for Reiche's liking, but there was a time and a place for being fussy about public exhibitionism, and right now Reiche would have done this on Carpathia's desk. _Especially_ on Carpathia's desk.

He kissed savagely at Leon's neck, in the gap between the torn shirt and the tie that had coiled itself into a knot so tight the pair of them had given up on it. Leon had whined when the shirt had been torn, but Reiche's blood had been pounding in his ears and it was _clothing_, of all things. This, he thought (or would have been thinking if his thoughts could coalesce into something other than this red cloud of instinct and desire), was worth losing most of his worldly possessions for, if not all of them.

He had almost been too drunk to perform, but then there had been the combination of the smell of Leon's hair and the way he had moaned _so_ nicely whilst Reiche's fingers had been fumbling down his trousers like a furtive teenage boy, and he'd felt like years had been lifted from his shoulders. He'd forced the younger man against the wall, torn his clothes, ran his hands over every inch of the skin he'd been denied for so long since Leon came back into his life, and at a whimpered insistence, he'd given into the wild beast roaring in his head and had made Leon yell in ways he'd forgotten he could.

He hoped Carpathia could hear, and the thought of it shamed him, using Leon as a competitive edge over his rival. But there was no denying that the idea satisfied him. Having Leon as an ally again would be a shining torch for the scattered joys of his life to rally around.

"Leon... _Hristos_..."There were principles, and then there were old habits, and Reiche hadn't quite shaken off the curse-words of the prevalent religion of his hometown.

It was over far too quickly, Reiche drunk and horny and Leon giving into his lover's every whim, all thought of fight erased by the opportunity of quick passionate sex right here and now. Reiche released Leon from where he'd been holding him against the wall, and he felt the younger man's knees buckle at the sudden absence of pressure. He caught hold of Leon and half-carried him to the desk chair, the only convenient piece of comfortable furniture in the room, feeling like a strong young bull as he failed to stumble under Leon's weight.

He sat down, gently hauled Leon onto his lap, both of them half-naked and exhausted, sweating and panting as though they'd just finished a marathon. Reiche felt his pulse settle, grow steady and slow, as he inhaled the perfume of Leon's hair, and fancied this could last forever.

"You make me feel like a young man again," he said, hazily, and Leon smiled against his shoulder.

"You would have lasted longer if you were," he teased.

"Ah yes, but I'm not sure you would have been able to cope with my burning passion."

Leon laughed, and his grip on Reiche tightened momentarily. "I'm sure we would have worked something out."

And then there was silence, and nothing but their breathing. Through the window, the lights of Bucharest burned all trace of the stars from the sky, and Reiche could see, faint against the bright lights, the reflection of the two of them, relaxed and carefree. In this reflection, he couldn't see the grey in Leon's hair, or the lines of his own drink-raddled face.

He was looking into his own eyes, trying to see in the blurry reflection whether he'd managed to regain what he'd lost, and he caught himself leaning forward just a little to peer into the darkness beneath his brows. He laughed at his own silliness.

"What?" Leon asked, stirred by the motion of Reiche's chest. He smiled up at the older man.

"You are _very_ beautiful, Leon."

The smile faded, danced away in the wind like the ghost of a summer's day. Reiche didn't see it, intent only on kissing the top of Leon's head, and by the time Leon drew away from him and stood up, a newer version of the smile was back, but its older sister had long since gone.

"I must be getting home," Leon stretched, and began to pull the tatters of his shirt together.

"I could come with you," Reiche said, disappointed that his perfect moment was over. "I would enjoy waking up beside you again."

"People will talk, Reiche," Leon didn't meet his eyes, but there was a disarming grin on his face.

"Let them."

Leon made for his jacket, finally got himself into some semblance of order. The shirt was a lost cause, but with the jacket closed the damage was barely noticeable. He turned to Reiche, who was still waiting optimistically for an acceptance.

"We should have dinner together," he said, finally giving in. "And then, afterwards, we shall see about you waking up beside me. I would of course expect breakfast."

"Anything for you."

Leon looked at Reiche for a long moment, then turned away towards the door, his eyes closing briefly and an expression of pain crossing his face. "I know quite a nice restaurant, it isn't too far from here. They do Italian food _properly_, which is getting so hard to find these days."

"Tomorrow, then," Reiche said, crossing the room to take Leon in his arms. "It would hardly be fair to make me wait any longer, now, would it?"

Leon's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Apparently not. I'll send one of the secretaries over with the name of the place, I can never remember how it's said in your language."

"I will have to teach you Romanian one day," Reiche kissed his cheek. Leon winced, remembering the language lesson he'd already sat through with Nicolae.

"One day," he said.


	8. Did I Crash

_Hey by the way, when I fell to your wayside_

_Did I crash or just slide_

_Hey by the way, when I pulled myself up to your wayside_

_Did I hurt you or just slide in__  
_

They had been on this stupid train for nearly two days, but Reiche could hardly bemoan the cramped circumstances. He and Leon had a sleeper compartment to themselves, and the need to be _quiet_ about their activities made the trip even more thrilling.

Leon's forehead rested on the window, and his breath misted up the glass. Reiche was reading a trashy crime novel, his feet propped against the seat opposite him. They were comfortably close, one of Reiche's elbows resting against Leon's hip, but they weren't actively intruding on each other's space.

"Reiche?" Leon asked, sounding as though something were preying on his mind.

"What is it?" Reiche folded the page of the book over, and slid his arm around Leon's shoulders.

"What is your boss like, this man Carpathia? I'd like to know what you think of him before I meet him."

"You've seen the newspapers on the train," Reiche said, unable to keep the bitter note from his voice. "You know what everyone thinks of him."

"Yes, but it's your opinion I want to hear. You know him better than tabloid hacks. Be honest with me, I want to know the man I am to be working for."

Reiche sucked his breath in through his teeth. "Honestly? He's self-assured to the point of arrogance, but the papers haven't seen past his smile yet. Almost everything he does is calculated to make him look good."

"Vain?"

"No..." Reiche said slowly, "and yes. He seems to care very much about the opinion the general public has of him." He kissed Leon's shoulder. "Can we not talk about him?"

Another cloud of Leon's breath caused droplets to accumulate and drip down the window.

"I was only asking."

"I'm not on his good side at the moment. I was the boss before he came of age, and I think he's still trying to prove his supremacy."

Leon said nothing, and Reiche grinned, trying to draw him back into conversation.

"Of course, he can't hope to compare with my godlike attributes."

"Of course not." Leon didn't turn away from the window. Reiche pulled on his shoulder, forcibly dragging him away from his contemplation of the grey pre-dawn outside.

"Something on your mind, Leon?"

"I don't know. It's just... odd thoughts. Ideas. You know. I think it's the lack of sleep."

"My apologies."

It was then Leon did smile, and poked Reiche in the chest. "Not _you_, although that has been a contributing factor lately. I've just been suffering from bouts of insomnia for a while. I was almost on medication for it, but then it goes away and comes back."

"I'm sure you'll be fine once you've settled in Romania."

"I hope so."

Reiche looked at his watch. Five am. His circadian rhythms had been shot to hell since he'd gone to Leon's villa, his body unused to siestas and staying up til the small hours of the morning. He'd seen the sun rise more times than he could count over the past weeks, and had missed most of the morning as a result of the following sleep. The train was due in to Bucharest any minute now, and he was looking forward to sleeping in his own bed, in his own apartment, hopefully with Leon.

The train's brakes shrieked as the speed gradually reduced. Reiche put his book into his bag, and picked up the cases (two of which were Leon's) in order to carry them to the platform, where Nicolae had promised a car would await them.

In the rose-tinted sunrise, as the sky shook off its dark, bruise-coloured night, he stepped off the train a few paces behind Leon. It had been raining in Bucharest, and the platform was slick with rain. He looked up, and the bottom seemed to fall out of his stomach.

Nicolae was standing on the platform, shaking Leon by the hand, with that usual dazzling smile on his face, and _there_ was the companionable shoulder-squeeze, that grip that you didn't notice until it was too late. His bright blue gaze slid from Leon's face over in Reiche's direction, and the older man _knew_ he had lost the battle before it had even begun. Leon had been taken away from him, permanently and irretrievably. He should never have offered to bring him to Romania.

Leon turned away from the introductions, once, with a faint smile on his face as he beckoned Reiche over with a nod of the head. Reiche could see a familiar look in Leon's eyes, and it came like a punch to the gut to realise that Leon had once looked like that when thinking about _him_.

Stupid, stupid, stupid Reiche. He'd stepped right into this one.

He hauled on the cases, manfully, until Nicolae's chauffeur came to assist him, by which time Leon had already turned away and was being led to the car, with that _hand_ still on his shoulder. Reiche wanted to run over to the pair of them and tear Leon away, leap right back on the train to Italy and hide away in Leon's villa with his lover for the rest of his life. He could lock all the doors, unhook the phone, throw the computer out of the second-storey window and close all the blinds.

But he'd never be able to erase that star-struck look from Leon's eyes.

'_Odd thoughts... ideas..._'

Reiche bit his tongue to keep from cursing. That had been the game all along. The ultimate king, and the ultimate kingmaker. He'd been blind to it all along, disarmed by the thought of having his lover back in his arms, and the rage that was rising in him now made him want to tear his own eyes out, or fly at Nicolae and hit him until his knuckles were bloody, and then hit him again until the bone came to the surface. His fists clenched as he climbed into the car, and sat next to Leon.

He wasn't given a glance for the entire journey.


	9. Believe

_I believe in love_

_I believe in us_

It was dark in the car.

The heating had been on during the journey, so it was comfortable, the chill of the night not yet invading the small, intimate space.

Leon drummed his fingers on his knees, a nervous habit he'd only recently reacquired. He'd done it in the seminary when thoughts of Reiche had taken his concentration away from important debates of Church doctrine. The rhythm was a tune he'd learnt in childhood, way back before the horizon of memory, and it was the one thing that had stuck with him all his life. He didn't even realise he was doing it-

"Stop that."

-until it was pointed out to him. He forced his fingers to curl back into his palm, covering one hand with the other in an effort to keep them still.

"I'm sorry, my Lord."

There was no response. Leon hadn't expected one. He'd long since learnt that these perfunctory responses would never be noted until they were left out of his side of the dialogue. It was always better to be respectful, _worshipful, _even. That had been an early lesson, and his suffering had been short, in that instance, because he'd learned quickly.

They were sitting on a hill with a perfect, uninterrupted view of the restaurant Leon had suggested to Reiche. He could see the man now, sitting at the table, compulsively drinking water and rearranging his clothes, which were going to be grubby with too much attention. He'd fussed with his tie sixteen times. Leon had been keeping count.

"He is a remarkably patient man. It is already half an hour after you agreed to meet."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Has he always exhibited such qualities?"

"Yes, my Lord," Leon began, then felt something else was required of him. "He waited for three weeks outside my dormitory when we first met."

A cruel smile glinted in the darkness. "How very romantic."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Unfortunately, I do not need men with romantic souls."

Leon _knew_ Nicolae was looking at him, even though his gaze was firmly fixed on his hands, which even now were twitching to the unconscious rhythm that was whirling around his head. "I understand, my Lord."

"I am sure you do."

Leon's insides were curling themselves into uncomfortable knots. The great conflict in his soul was over, the invading armies winning by a landslide, but there was still something deep down that made him squirm when he thought of what he'd done, and what he was now bound to do. He couldn't have stopped serving Carpathia any more than he could have called down fire from the sky on his own fickle heart, but there had been resistance from somewhere, and it had pulled at the velvet chains he'd been shackled with.

He hadn't meant to reunite with Reiche quite so completely. It was meant to be a dinner invitation, a little guarded, seeming to be unsure of the future, which would have been able to explain his lateness easier. But then he'd looked at Reiche's face, and the small voice in his heart had roared, louder than all the others, and he hadn't been able to stop himself.

Leon was almost entirely a creature of instinct. He'd already paid the price for that, many times over.

He already knew what the future was going to hold, and it was trying to push the thought from his head that was making his fingers twitch and his palms sweat. He was thinking of Rome, and it was making his arms into leaden weights when he thought of the gun that Nicolae had so kindly left on the back seat until it was needed. Out of sight, but not out of mind.

"It is time, Leon."

"My Lord-" Leon began, and could have died there and then when he saw the silhouette of Nicolae's face turn, focus on him. It would be deadly calm, he knew, but when Nicolae's face was deadly calm was the _worst_ time.

"Is there something you wish to say, Leonardo?"

The pause stretched out, thin and brittle as spun glass. _Not Reiche_, Leon wanted to say. _Not my Reiche. Put a bullet between my eyes right now because this is the one thing I cannot and will not do, not even for you. You may own my soul, but my heart is yet my own._

"I wished to thank you for allowing me to serve you in this way, my Lord," the words came out shaped differently than he'd wanted. Apparently his tongue wasn't suicidal.

"Very good, Leonardo."

Leon's heart sang with the praise, even as it hollowed and died when the gun was placed in his sweaty hands. The window wound down, and the cold night air froze the sweat on his skin.

He was going to cry over this later, in his bedroom on the compound, so close to Nicolae's. He was going to howl and scream until his lungs and throat were ragged with it, and he was choking on his own breath. He was going to ceremonially burn his designer clothes, consign them to the flames as though they didn't matter to him, had never mattered, and the smoke would sting his eyes and inspire yet more tears, until he curled up on the floor, a husk of himself. And Nicolae would doubtless sit next door, and listen, and drink expensive brandy, and smile.

He sighted along the barrel, and his vision blurred, briefly. He blinked the tears back, and as he did so he heard Nicolae sigh, just a hint of impatience that belied the volcano brewing underneath. There would be a price for every second Leon hesitated, and he'd pay it and be glad.

"I should not need to illustrate what will happen to you if you miss."

"Of course not, my Lord." Leon found his voice oddly steady.

He took a deep breath, and steadied his hands, which had begun to shake.

"To Rome," he mouthed, and pulled the trigger.


End file.
